


Underneath Your Clothes

by Nicky_Gabriel



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 21:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicky_Gabriel/pseuds/Nicky_Gabriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Painting classes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underneath Your Clothes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laura_McEwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_McEwan/gifts).



_You're a song written by the hands of God_   
_Don't get me wrong 'cause this might sound to you a bit odd_   
_But you own the place where all my thoughts go hiding_   
_Right under your clothes, is where I find them_   
**SHAKIRA, Underneath Your Clothes**

 

“Hutch, cheer up!”  
  
Hutch, who was studying his address book, looked up. “What?”  
  
Starsky slumped next to him on the couch, nodding at the book. “You’ve been reading it for an hour now, but rest assured that Wednesday is not the best day for setting a date,” he said with a knowing smile. “Now Friday or Saturday would be much better. Trust the expert.”  
  
Hutch frowned, trying to figure out what he was talking about, but finally countered with a hint of irritation, “As if I didn’t know myself, wise guy.”  
  
“What’s the problem?” Starsky asked.  
  
Hutch knew he was truly interested in the answer. Sometimes life made it all so complicated. Even the things that were supposed to be done for fun. Or just because he liked them. Hutch leaned his head against the sofa and looked at the ceiling. “Kathy’s friend took a sick day and Kathy had to fly to Sydney in her place.”  
  
Starsky raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were dating again.”  
  
“We are not.” Hutch shook his head. “She agreed to be my model for tonight’s painting classes,” he explained, discouraged.  
  
“I thought the gallery provided the models for people who don’t have one.” Starsky sat Indian style facing Hutch.  
  
Hutch smiled because his friend was always interested in his drawing and painting classes. They had decided to take up painting and photography classes during Starsky’s therapy to have something else to do rather than wait until Starsky was accepted on duty again.  
  
“They do.” Hutch sighed. “Usually.”  
  
“What’s different today?” Starsky tilted his head.  
  
Yes, what was different today?  
  
“We have to learn how to find a model and we are supposed to work on our own... canvas tonight,” Hutch explained gloomily.  
  
Starsky looked perplexed. “Hey, I picked your order of supplies just two days ago,” he noticed. “Don’t tell me you ran out of _canvas_ already!”  
  
Hutch cheered up a little seeing his expression. “No, I didn’t, but we’ll be learning a new technique. It’s called body-painting. It’s a special way of creating art on human skin.” He tossed the notebook on the table.  
  
Starsky smiled. “That’s terrific! I always thought it was fascinating. I learned about that in art class in high school.”  
  
Hutch had been excited, until he lost his model. “Well, I need to provide one project to finish the course and I can’t do it without a model.”  
  
Starsky thought about it while Hutch rubbed his face up and down with frustration. It would a long evening looking for a model.  
  
“Is it dangerous?” Starsky asked. “I mean, to have paint on skin?”  
  
“Starsk, people have painted their skin since prehistoric times. Women do it every day. It’s no more dangerous than any other daily activities. I’m sure you’re familiar with the paint used for those purposes.”  
  
Starsky obviously knew what he was talking about. “I sure am. I used that _technique_ to hide in the jungle during the war, and I assure you that it’s no fun to be covered in mud all day long.”  
  
Hutch couldn’t help grinning. “Modern research has proven that mud has healing properties, partner.”  
  
“Maybe Kathy didn’t want to try it on her skin?” Starsky grinned, too.  
  
“Unfortunately, you’re wrong. She even suggested what she’d like to have painted on her skin.”  
  
Starsky shifted, as if his knees troubled him. “But I see that you’ve had no luck finding replacement,” he said smugly.  
  
“As you already stated, it’s Wednesday and as I’ve noticed that many of the girls I have in my black book have moved out of the town or gotten married.”  
  
Starsky laughed. “Well, you’re not getting younger, pal.”  
  
“Look who’s talking!” Hutch tried to look insulted, which was not easy with Starsky.  
  
“Does it have to be a girl?” Starsky inquired. “Your model? Maybe I could do it?”  
  
Hutch looked at him, surprised. Why hadn’t he thought about such a simple solution?  
  
“It doesn’t have to be a girl,” he said slowly. “But are you sure, Starsk? Kathy is a model. She’s used to undressing in public for the fashion shows.”  
  
“Don’t you have a screens to separate the easels?”  
  
Starsky had come to watch the art class a few times and had to remember how the classroom was laid out.  
  
“Sometimes we do. Marlee is unreliable. When she doesn’t want us to be influenced by other student’s work, she puts the screen up,” he explained.  
  
Starsky nodded and patted his knee. “Great! So in case you don’t find help, you can use my gorgeous body for research purposes.” He got up. “And now I’m going to take care of that gorgeous body in the garage, my favorite girl.”  
  
Hutch smiled. He didn’t have to look any further.  
  
*  
  
There were twice as many people in the gallery exhibition room where Hutch had his painting classes as usual. The room wasn’t crowded even though Marlee had put the screens between the easels to provide some privacy for the models. Chairs, mirrors and tables were provided, but the students had to bring other supplies such as brushes, paint and canvas.  
  
  
Starsky immediately found an interesting female model while they were waiting for the session. He chatted, as the students surrounded Marlee and her easel. She was giving a demonstration of what she expected them to achieve in the end.  
  
“This technique isn’t as easy as it looks,” she started the lecture. “I’m very pleased that all of you found a model that you feel comfortable working with. We put the screens in place so that those _canvases_ who are not professional models won’t feel intimidated by the artists and our other guests here. However, keep in mind that after you have finished your art, all models will be asked to display what the artists created.”  
  
“Carlos will help me to demonstrate how to do the henna-technique, which stays on the skin for a few weeks. Anna has agreed to be my canvas for the paint and sponge technique. This art will last only until she takes a shower, and it’s also the technique you should use during these classes. Some of you-- who already have experience with body-painting -- know that sometimes the models put a band over their eyes when the artist creates the painting. We provided some on your easels in case you would like to try to use one. Artists often don’t like to reveal their final effort until it’s finished, so if you want to honor their wish, you can use the band, but it’s not obligatory.” She looked around. “Shall we start?”  
  
The next half an hour was exactly what Hutch had been waiting for. He did his best to remember everything that Marlee was saying and demonstrating, and hoped he could create something even half as stunning as what she’d done. Marlee painted a stunning representation of the entire universe on Anna’s back, and the Solar System covering the rest of her skin was a masterpiece.  
  
“Your turn!” Marlee clasped her hands.  
  
The students gathered around the two models slowly left for their usual easels.  
  
Hutch stayed a moment longer, admiring the intricate work and the beautiful combination of colors all over Anna’s skin. Starsky waited for him a few steps away. Hutch joined him when Anna followed Marlee into her office.  
  
There was a small table for the supplies at every easel, as well as a stand for clothes and a stool. Hutch was used to working like this. Marlee sometimes had them paint individually so that they would not distract each other when an idea was important to the final result. He was glad that Starsky would have some privacy.  
  
“Do you want to watch?” Hutch asked when he adjusted the screen so Starsky would feel comfortable while he was undressing.  
  
Starsky grinned. “Nope, I don’t want to stress you out,” he said amused. He reached for the blindfold and put it on.  
  
Hutch placed the supplies so he would have easy access to everything, then moved Starsky’s clothes away so he would not accidentally get them dirty. Hutch stood behind his partner.  
  
“Are you going to use the picture you planned to put on Kathy’s body?” Starsky asked.  
  
“Yes,” Hutch admitted.  
  
“You ain’t going to make me go out in a dress?” Starsky lifted the blindfold, and looked at him with one eye.  
  
“After all these years, you could trust me a little.” Hutch tried to sound insulted.  
  
“I would if I didn’t know you.”  
  
Hutch put the blindfold back on. “Starsk, I’ve been working on this design ever since I started taking art classes. I’m not going to change it just because you don’t like cross-dressing.”  
  
“So it IS a dress!’  
  
Hutch held onto Starsky’s hands so he couldn’t touch the blindfold. “If you don’t like what I put on you, you can have any kind of revenge you can imagine. I won’t complain... much.”  
  
Starsky thought about it a long moment. “Fair enough.”  
  
Hutch laughed. “I know it won’t be easy, but... try and don’t move.”  
  
“Funny.”  
  
Hutch let him go and dipped his brush in the paint, but before he started, he put his hand over his partner’s back. He didn’t want to startle him, even though Starsky was familiar with his touch. Hutch had spent hours taking care of his wounds; his scars and his skin after the shooting. Starsky’s skin was smooth now. The scars on his chest had healed nicely and were almost invisible under his chest hair. Hutch knew every one of the scars as if they were his own ñ even those that already disappeared completely. But the scars on Starsky’s back the were the most evident. He couldn’t help tracing the lines with his fingertips.  
  
Starsky didn’t comment, just letting him do whatever he needed. Like so many times before.  
  
“This may take a while,” Hutch said when he could speak and tears were not threatening anymore. “Tell me when you are tired.”

“I will.”  
  
Hutch finally touched his skin with the brush and Starsky startled.  
  
“It’s cold,” he complained.  
  
“Starsk.” Hutch put a hand on his shoulder. “Last year they removed four bullets from your back. You survived that, you can survive a little cold as well.”  
  
Starsky turned his face toward him and smiled gently. “For you? I think I will. But I don’t have to like it.”  
  
Hutch swallowed hard. Leave it to Starsky to surprise him even after all these years. Slowly, he began covering Starsky’s back with black paint and then various shades of grey. He could see that Starsky was trying to figure out what pattern Hutch was putting on his skin, but his face only showed confusion.  
  
Hutch smiled. He’d had to change the design to make it work on Starsky’s body instead of Kathy’s, but the main idea remained, and he decided to enjoy every second of the classes. When he was done with Starsky’s back, Hutch turned him around and crouched. He started with Starsky’s calves, slowly going up.  
  
“Lift your hands,” he said when he stood up again.  
  
Starsky sighed, obviously bored to death and most probably slightly irritated because he couldn’t sit. He rested his hands on his head. Hutch continued painting his arms and only when he was done, he said, “May be ticklish now.”  
  
Indeed it was. It took Hutch a while to get Starsky’s belly done, because Starsky was giggling-- and based on the sounds coming from the other stands, many other models were also ticklish. Starsky’s chest that was the most complicated part. Hutch reached for a different sized brush and switched colors of paint. First, he made two broad orange stripes, then one red and finished with a while one around his neck. The details were what took the most time, however Hutch noticed that it was getting easier with every swipe of paint he put on Starsky’s skin.  
  
It was the first time Starsky had ever let him come that close, since he had been released for duty. Hutch wished the classes would last longer. Painting on skin was a completely different experience and knowing Starsky had let him do this was a one of a kind experience. For a moment, Hutch wondered how Starsky must have felt to have him paint on his skin, but he let it go. He knew he would never experience being painted on himself, so there was no point in wondering.  
  
There were drawbacks, however, because Starsky had firmly refused to shave the hair on his chest which didn’t make it easy to put the details on there. Finally, Hutch set the palette aside and lifted Starsky’s hand, painting the final white strip around his left wrist and then one around the right wrist.  
  
He stepped back and admired his work, actually pleased with the effect. The pattern wasn’t that bad.  
  
“Done?” Starsky asked when Hutch had been silent too long.  
  
“Done.”  
  
“May I take it off?”  
  
Hutch hesitated. The nervousness he felt just before he showed his art to anyone-- usually Starsky-- was tantalizing, yet the best part of the creative process. But this time ñ this time it was different. This wasn’t about leaving something for the future to see. It wasn’t about keeping some part of himself on canvas or paper. It wasn’t about making a part of himself last.  
  
He understood why there were so many artists who chose this way to express themselves. It wasn’t about creating something what would last. It was about sharing a moment, a special moment shared by two people.  
  
Starsky turned toward the mirror and Hutch undid the blindfold. Starsky -- used to Hutch’s way of unwrapping Christmas gifts -- waited patiently until Hutch dealt with the knot. This was kind of out of character for Starsky, proving that the moment must have been special for him, too.  
  
Starsky blinked and looked his reflection in the mirror. “Hutch...” he whispered, stunned.  
  
Hutch stepped behind him and admired his work. “Your tie is crooked,” he commented uncertainly.  
  
Starsky looked at his eyes in the mirror and just smiled. Hutch had put on him a perfectly tailored suit. Black with orange waistcoat, red tie and white shirt. The tie was indeed slightly crooked.  
  
“And?” Hutch asked with apprehension.  
  
“There is a button missing.”  
  
Hutch held his breath. The button was missing because of a scar where the surgeons had removed one of the bullets. “You want me to sew it on?” he asked hesitantly.  
  
“Nope, it’s perfect.” Starsky reached for his hand and squeezed.  
  
Yes, Starsky was perfect.  
  
“This suit was not what you would like to paint on me, right?” Starsky asked.  
  
Hutch blinked. How was he doing it? How could he have known?  
  
“Right,” Hutch admitted.  
  
“Then I regret to inform you partner, that you will have to do it again.” Starsky shook his head. “Home.”  
  
Hutch smiled. “Ready to go out?” He nodded toward the classroom.  
  
“In my birthday suit?” Starsky raised an eyebrow.  
  
“You can shower after the... exhibit.”  
  
“Oh, no.” Starsky stabbed him on the chest with his finger. “You put it on, you will take it off.”  
  
Hutch smiled even brighter.  
  
  
 **The End**


End file.
